


Another, Please

by Timpeni



Category: Bravely Default: Flying Fairy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bad Ending, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timpeni/pseuds/Timpeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They lost. But for fun, she's going to give them a second chance.</p><p>Obviously, she'll make sure the odds are in her favor, though.</p><p>(Spoilers for entirety of the game.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting up the Gameboard

**Author's Note:**

> why did i do this

There was very little celebration over her birth.

A girl with blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, too young to make sense of everyone’s dulled faces. Her father held her next, though instead of a child, she seemed like a dead weight- yet another mouth to feed.

But that did not mean they were going to let her pass away and die, regardless of how dire the circumstances are. Because the next day, someone very important knocked on the door of the Resistance tower- someone who the man has known for very long, yet does not look to have aged a day.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more. But keep her safe. She’s incredibly important.”

Simple words, straightforward meaning. “Have you given her a name?”

The Resistance leader shakes his head, and the visitor smiles for a moment. “Then, what do you think about the name Edea?”

~*~

Running, jumping, wading through the filth- why did this all seem so familiar?

Walking the thin line between life and death- he thinks, no, he _knows_ he’s been through this before.

Dashing, gripping onto that sword of his, the only thing he was left with- and his… problem.

It was a crippling problem. Sometimes, dreamt of a huge pillar of light- sometimes, he saw three unfamiliar faces, which he forgot as soon as consciousness took hold again.

Dreams weren’t the issue, of course. But it first happened when he saw the Dark Knights patrolling through the city- and there no explanation for why he fell to the ground, screaming, _I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t protect her!_

He was too loud. Too prone to these fits. He could repeat the names of countries that never existed, and describe their cities down to the detail mere child’s imagination can hardly string together in such complexity. The scent of flowers sometimes made him yell about a place called Florem- he leapt that any stranger with long, messy blonde hair, without being able to explain why he did it and why he always cries when he sees their face.

The last straw came at a parade. It was a grand event, held to celebrate the grace of the Holy Mother Most High. Streamers were hung up; fighting rings were prepared. Chariots of gold with mandatory butterfly designs were chiseled by hand, and filled with luxuries from soap to electronics. Airy herself was going to be visiting, after all.

They took away everything they know he’s been set off by. Participation to the parade was compulsory; and even if it wasn’t, if anyone skipped out without good reason, they were immediately suspected to be part of the vile Resistance.

The cheering should’ve drowned out her voice. The crowds should’ve blocked her from view. And yet, the boy was just unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of a flying figure, smirk (too familiar) planted on her face.

“My loyal subjects!”

It was far worse than before. Instead of just falling and screaming, he raced through the masses, ran faster than anyone has ever seen, jumped higher than a child should’ve been capable of- in moments, he hoisted a sword from the weapon’s rack by one of the fighting rings, and hopped right into the way of the parade.

Before he could do anything else, Airy flung him into the crowd with a quick Zeta Flare, before proclaiming- “Could everyone _please_ stay behind the red line?”

For some twisted reason, he lived. He laid writhing in pain for a good amount of time, as the crowd shoved him out of the main line of sight. He never found his parents again- he doesn’t think he was looked for.

It didn’t matter, anyway. For some reason, some _damn_ reason, he knew he needed to do… something. For what cause, and for what side, that was still a mystery. But he ran free through the streets, gripping that sword he was blown away with, nursing his own injuries with knowledge no one taught him and exposing himself to everything, trying to make sense of all the hallucinations he received.

…Though, perhaps, ‘hallucinations’ isn’t the right word. Every now and then, right before the brink of death, he found just what he needed around the corner. Be it food, water, medicine, even a key to escape a jail cell before execution- it was the work of miracles. Or perhaps, someone else.

The only God that exists was Ouroboros, and though everyone believed him great, he knows that the deity wouldn’t lift a finger to help someone so small. (Or anyone, to that matter.)

Just… somehow.

Sometimes, as the miracles occurred, he saw a shadow of a grown man blink away; a strand of brown hair so distinct in the mud for reasons unknown (yet again), causing another flashback. The miracles are concrete. He knows there’s something about it.

Something he has to find out.

He doesn’t know whether to thank whoever is granting him these miracles, or lament them- why lend a hand only when he’s about to perish? Why don’t they ever show their face? Again, there’s so many things he does not _understand,_ it’s almost an obsession- towards everything he can know, he _will know,_ damn the consequences.

There is one clear thing about the hallucinations, though. Something that’s made him discard the name he was given. Something he _knew._

The names- Alternis Dim… and Ringabel.

~*~

There was a huge party over her birth.

A girl with brunette hair, and dark brown eyes, too young to make sense of everyone’s excited faces. Her father held her next, though instead of a child, she seemed like a hope- a chance at happiness.

After all, when his wife was expecting, who else visited the doors of their extended family other than the Holy Mother Most High herself?

“Rise, sons of man,” she commanded, voice as holy and strong as ever. “I come in knowledge that one of you will be graced with a child soon?”

“Yes, Lady Airy,” he said, speaking on behalf of the whole household, cramped in one small area that the holy figure managed to illuminate in entirety. “My wife…”

A warm smile crossed her face. “I see. Times have been harsh on you all, I know- but it is better than any world without Lord Ouroboros’ blessings on us all.”

“I know,” he sputtered- too indignantly, and he cringed at those words. “But… why do you visit us?”

Airy hovered down to the ground. “The child you carry now is the Prophet of Lord Ouroboros himself. She will be the one closest to him… serve his beck and call, spread his name across the land, and she will be the one to crush the tainted, power-hungry Resistance. Her growth shall be monitored closely by me… I will grant you the grandest of houses, the largest of feasts. All I ask is that I have the authority to raise her as the strongest warrior in our army.”

The shocked silence is overwhelming. (Airy is used to it- she’s used to keeping up a guise of benevolence, after all. One mask after the other, isn’t it?) “By the way, I’d like to christen her, as well- a name from the past… her fate echoes to her. Agnés Oblige…”

(Her face may seem warm, but if Ringabel saw it, he’d be able to recognize- anticipation. Hunger. Excitement.

On Airy, it is never a good thing.)

~*~

Her patience was already worn thin by millenniums of worlds after worlds. Now that she’s completed her objective and had no need to wait, it became even worse.

Being top dog in a world of evolution, chaos and deceit is… actually kind of boring. She liked to go out, pretending to be a normal human, and break every limb of all who dared cross her path- but even that was losing its charm. She was recognized as an extremely powerful figure, a Celestial, one of the only two (the rest were sealed away when they wrecked the Celestial Realm. What kind of idiot would let them roam free?). It seems that no secret can ever remain a secret, and she was worshipped across the realm; a welcome change, and they were never slow to please and entertain someone capable of killing them with the snap of a finger.

Really, humans like to believe that the act of mercy is benevolence? The fact they all treat her like a Mother Goddess should be expected, seeing as she preaches about a ‘world before Ouroboros’, a world of boredom and lifelessness- and calls herself his loyal servant. But to actually, genuinely like her? The human race holds surprises yet.

…Unfortunately, even crushing the squads of the Resistance that popped up now and then was turning out to be more of a chore than a fun game. After all, she can’t let anything like _those four_ happen again- it was too close, too close for call. There was an immortal with a whole plan to kill Lord Ouroboros, and now, there existed three immortals in this whole realm.

Quite a big mishap. But if she kept them contained and without support, she’s sure they won’t be much trouble.

Now, though, she’s set out to make a whole new game. After fucking half of the people who came to her for guidance and killing the rest, she’s decided to leave that castle of hers to create a playing field.

After all, being loyal servant of Ouroboros meant control over many laws of existence itself- including souls.

She would bring forth three of the deceased, knowing that the one that survived will recognize them instantly. The fact her sister still lives gives Airy much trouble, and what better way to lure her out than to bait her vessel?

“Come on, Agnés!” She giggles, forever in her perfect form- though, there’s an urge to change to her tiniest body, just for nostalgia’s sake. And more irony, of course. “You’ll never be a warrior if you don’t learn how to aim with that gun properly.”


	2. Starting the Timer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have more rambling before an actual plot

The winds are bearable this time of year, at least.

Many would think the Resistance leader’s daughter would lead an extremely exciting life. Of anarchy, of death and defiance- rushing past armies and shooting people one by one. Instead, whenever Edea rose, her first and only real predicament was to let go of her pillow.

She did not rush past barricades with grenades, or tie up wounds with her own ripped clothes. In fact, her clothes were impeccably clean- obviously, since she only wore white dresses.

In a world where a never-ending war of succession raged rampant, it was… peaceful. Away from the fights in the name of evolution, away from the trickery and deceit sewed gingerly into the fabric of society, labeled as ‘genius’.

“Oh, you’re up early today.” There’s a familiar voice- Edea turns her head, and she’s used to not seeing her parents there.

(They’re far too busy.)

“Yeah, but don’t think I’m going to start training early, either.” She’s… not completely detached from action, but it was mostly… swordfighting. While she did need to learn to multitask with many different weapons, such an old weapon, still stuck in the past as the world advanced around it…

Was it a good idea? To teach her to use that primarily, just for the whole ‘Resistance’ deal…? Just because they were the ones fighting for peace, for the ‘ways before Ouroboros’, as preached by their own prophet?

…She did bring that question up to that prophet. _It’s alright, Edea- trust me. You’re capable of ability beyond any cannon or missile they can throw at you._

 _That’s bullshit,_ she deadpanned.

He remained- no, _remains_ insistent, though. And today, the sword feels just a bit lighter in her hands.

Her mentor grabs his Asterisk, before changing to a Swordmaster. She’s about to reach for it, before-

“No, not today. You have to learn how to be skillful as a Freelancer before it has any real use.”

“But Mr. Arrior-!”

Tiz doesn’t really let her argue much, though. Training… does feel natural now, at least. They took a break for lunch in between- always fruits and water, with some meat if they’re lucky. They end for dinner, with pepper soup and a few boiled ribs.

Life was simple. Tiz was a good surrogate parent for her, and the ~~refugees~~ servants here and there treated her well.

Nothing big or grand, like stories of adventure and heroism… a calm existence. Preparing for something big. He always said she didn’t _need_ to follow their lifestyle… but there was something that told her she definitely _would_ anyway.

Edea doesn’t want to make a decision just yet, though. At eleven, just barely being able to keep up past nine…

She’ll pass out, and the next day will come.

Tiz told her she must’ve had an old soul that’s lived through many lives to be content with living so simply as a young age. She does contemplate the possibility, but there’s no way to prove something like that without dying first.

So she lives as she does.

And she is happy.

(Really?)

~*~

There is something exhilarating about fresh blood pouring down your knees.

Better than cracking bones, or pleading sounds- perhaps it’s better when she’s holding her target, too. Just to feel the life fade out of them, and the blood and organs turn from life processes to warm things dripping down her body that turn cold so fast.

She always did feel a bit sorry for them, with how they’ve trained up so hard for this- but that was the way life is. Elimination by competition is a natural occurrence, and perhaps one day, she’ll fall to someone as well.

Not very likely, though. Seeing as she’s secretly the prophet of Lord Ouroboros and all.

“The Vestal Virgin has won again! And looking gorgeous while doing it, too!”

Agnés doesn’t really see how being covered in blood and guts is _gorgeous,_ but okay.

Lady Airy said it was the best for her to get some experience in the _real_ combat ring- where life is truly at stake. The Holy Mother couldn’t watch, of course- she was busy with her own duties, and the prophet should learn how to stand alone, too. Agnés was never talented in dealing blows- her forte was surviving them. It really rang true, how _offense is the best defense,_ and it exposed all her real flaws to her. But her excellent control of magic still prevailed, in the end.

That, and knives, but still.

The monthly tournaments held in Caldisla were good practice. Pressure from the crowd, and pressure from the presence of death, too. She always won, though- from the dozens of competitors, she was always the last one standing.

And they _loved_ her for it. Someone like her gives them hope that humanity is truly advancing, apparently. You’ll rip through Resistance heads if you gave it a go, they said.

“-Excuse me? May I have a moment, miss?”

Agnés doubles back a bit… she’s dropped her tough stage face ages ago. “How did _you_ get here?!”

A male- he doesn’t look too disheveled, or dirty, but there was an odd feeling she got from him, something that told her to _get_ _away._ Not to mention they were in the girl’s changing room at the back of the tournament venue.

“A few unbolted windows and a hammer. Really, they’re just asking for sabotages and unfair play by now.”

“Get out,” she growls. “I’ll have you know I’m the Vestal Virgin herself-”

“That reminds me. Do you prefer Vestal Virgin, or Agnés?”

A pause. Her eyes widen, and she scrambles for her knife. “How… how did you know my name?! Did I say it by accident? I’m quite sure I kept by my title…!”

The blonde definitely backed up at that. “Calm down, Agnés… I just took a shower, after all. It’ll be a shame to get dirty all over again.”

“You’re a stalker, then,” she hisses, fingers reaching out and coiling around her wand as well. “Unacceptable…!”

“My, you still say that?” He smirks a bit, and Agnés feels- feels like this _person_ is backing her into a corner more than anyone in the fighting ring ever has before. “With how different your life and attitude is now, I’m honestly surprised. Memories make you who you are… which begs the question, where exactly did that catchphrase come from?”

“GET OUT!”

There’s a terrific lunge, and his eyes widen at the sudden change in speed. He does feint to the left before he gets pinned to the wall through the neck, but his hasty retreat up the window is probably a bit more undignified to what he’s used to.

“It was an honor meeting you, miss! Just so you know- you can call me Ringabel.” That name… makes her pause for reasons unknown, holding back the Firaga brewing in her wand. He blows a kiss to her, just before jumping out the building.

…

“Ringabel…” Agnés looks at her knife, blinking.

~*~

“So, this is your game, hm?”

He’s bitter. Oh hell, he is _bitter._ Ringabel’s footsteps are a bit heavier than usual, especially when it comes to times like these- it was the afternoon, after all. Activity was high, and it was prime time for stealing anything that catches the eye. Ringabel was a _gentleman,_ though, and only stole from those who don’t need it all too much.

(As if he was going to submit to Airy’s world of natural selection, letting the weakest get targeted non-stop and perish.)

“It’s a bit cliché, isn’t it? After being the only one who remembers nothing, I become the only one who remembers _everything?”_

Agnés didn’t know who he was- had not won the fight to grant herself thousands of lives’ experience. Hell if he knew where the fuck Edea was. Tiz… Tiz still housed a Celestial within, didn’t he? Was he…

…still alive? Celestials are separate from the mortal realm; they would survive the destruction of it. Does it apply to immortals through power and Celestials too?

That would explain all the help he’s gotten through the years. Tiz can’t possibly be at one place all the time, or bring him away- Airy would track him down and lock them both up in a dungeon somewhere.

…Would Tiz still be so hopelessly naïve? Even after centuries of death, ‘excitement’?

Yeah, probably.

At least, he probably would’ve had the good sense coupled with sheer determination to stay alive. Agnés has… gone through some things, obviously- he’s not sure why she’s fighting so much and how she got _so good,_ but she was… alright on her own.

The landscape is still shaped after the old worlds’ image. Walking down the filthy streets of Caldisla, he has to look as decrepit as possible so he wouldn’t look like that much a big target.

“How troublesome, having to limit my own appearance and poise to survive in a world like this.”

Still, though. If he could hitch a ride on one of the cramped airships and somehow not die in the journey… he may just be able to make it to Eternia…?

…

Yeah, no dice.

Ah, the curse of knowing so much! It’s tiresome to be right all the time, but he lives with it.

He’s sure there’s a way, though. They wouldn’t be brought back… _this way_ without a reason.

“Edea, wherever you are…” Ringabel just narrowly dodges a pot flying down from stories above, wondering just how much trouble he would’ve been saved or how much he deserved if it hit-

“Please be safe.”

He has to make up for centuries of failing to save her as Alternis, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because fuck actual plot things happening, right?

**Author's Note:**

> am i actually going to write this????
> 
> no one knows
> 
> i need a beta reader someone pls


End file.
